


The Road is Long (and Home is Gone)

by SergeantPixie



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: AU WHERE MONICA LIVES, Gen, MONICA GARZA GETS THE ENDING SHE DESERVES, Monica lives, team petrova ftw, this is occasionally really depressing but Monica lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8589943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SergeantPixie/pseuds/SergeantPixie
Summary: Seth and Richie get a little more than they bargained for when they take a hostage. fdtd Season One AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> …there is so much to say and yet. man. I'm not even sure where to start. goddamn. I dug myself into such a hole with this fic, honestly. Anyway, this literally exists because Monica Garza's death is one of the great injustices of television history, in my opinion, anyway. TVD strays from canon in 3x05. Don't really want to spoil anything else, so if you have questions, please ask, and if it's not something I plan on covering in the story, I will answer them to the best of my ability. Anyway, enjoy!  
> Oh also, this fic would not exist if it weren't for one my dearest friends, who wishes to remain unnamed, so I shall henceforth refer to her glorious self as my very own Santanico. Thank you so much, San, you've 100% ruined my life with fdtd and I love you for it. This crossover simply wouldn't exist without your perf ass, lbr;)  
> anyway, onto the fic!

" _You don't own me, I'm not just one of your many toys, you don't own me, don't say I—_ " the radio clicks off. Alice Lane sits up, glancing at the clock radio more out of habit than anything else. It reads 6:15 like every other morning. Alice smiles and gets ready for her run, humming the old Lesley Gore song as she goes.

In the bathroom she pulls her auburn red hair up into a ponytail. The color gleams freshly in the fluorescent lighting. Checking that her running shoes are properly tied, she shuts off the lights and heads out.

At 7:15 she returns from her run and puts on a pot of coffee before she takes a shower. She's done by 7:30. She dries her hair, letting it fall in loose waves. Alice leaves it down until she's dressed for work. She pulls on nude stockings, grimacing at thoughts of the heat outside. At least there's air conditioning at work.

" _And please when I go out with you, don't put me on display, 'cause you don't own me, don't try to change me in anyway, you don't own me,_ " she hums as she picks out a shirt, absentmindedly tracing the design on her locket before she pulls out a green silk blouse and slips it on. She buttons it up to the hollow of her throat, effectively hiding the locket. She tucks her blouse into her black pencil skirt, smoothing the material down. She ties the blouse's necktie neatly; the silky material just covers the scars that mar the otherwise smooth flesh of her throat.

She sits on the end of her bed and slips her stocking clad feet into black patent leather pumps. In the bathroom, she twists her hair up into a perfect up-do, pinning it in place with careful fingers. In the mirror, she carefully crafts her face, using minimal makeup to create a whole new girl—one with rounder cheekbones and a softer mouth, until she looks kinder, more like Alice Lane.

Back in her bedroom, she straightens her skirt and slips into the matching black blazer. Critically she studies her reflection and then gives a satisfied nod at her neat appearance. Gathering her purse from the armchair by the window, she heads to the kitchen for breakfast. It's only 8 o'clock.

" _I don't tell you what to do, and I don't tell you what to say, so just let me be myself, that's all I ask of you,_ " she sings while she makes a sesame bagel with cream cheese, and pours herself a cup of coffee. Still humming, she sits down to eat her breakfast and read the local newspaper.

The apartment is sparsely decorated but she blames that on her short occupation of the place. She's only been there for a few months after all. Still, the apartment looks stylish and modern; it's the perfect apartment for an ambitious young woman. There are artistic prints of far off places on the walls; the only personal photos are pinned to her refrigerator. One is of Alice and an identical girl—her twin presumably—and the other is of her sandwiched between a small boy and beaming teenage girl. Several childish drawings also adorn the fridge.

" _I'm young and I love to be young, I'm free and I love to be free, to live my life the way I want, to say and do whatever I please,"_ Alice is singing again, done with her paper and her breakfast, she cleans her few dishes. She gathers her stuff, glancing around her apartment, making sure she has everything she needs. It's 8:30, so she leaves her apartment to make the short walk to work.

* * *

"Good morning Mrs. Medina," Alice calls to the elderly woman watering her garden. Mrs. Medina looks up from her roses and smiles.

"Good morning, dear," she says in reply, waving her free hand. Alice smiles and continues on her way. At the corner she comes across a tiny Japanese woman walking her dog. The woman greets Alice with a bright smile.

"Good morning, Miss Lane," she says.

"Good morning Mrs. Himura, good morning Daisy," Alice replies. The small brown dog yips happily at Alice and she giggles. Mrs. Himura is the local librarian, and Alice spends a good deal of her free time at the library. After a brief conversation with the kind librarian, Alice bids her goodbye and continues on her way.

At the next block Alice waves hello to Roger Smith, the mailman, who returns the gesture gladly. It's a perfect sunny day, and Alice thinks to herself that it might be nice to take her lunch break outside again. She met the nicest woman while sitting in the park just last week. Alice loves to meet new people.

Crossing through the town square, Alice's place of work comes into view. She smiles at the food truck owners, passing two businessmen in suits seated at a picnic bench. She smiles and exchanges greetings with Hanna Cross—the town archivist—as she passes by the gazebo. A little boy and girl dart out in front of her, siblings, and a tiny bubble of pain erupts in her chest. Without faltering, Alice brushes it aside, smiles indulgently at them as they argue, and continues on her way to work.

At precisely 8:40 in the morning, Alice Lane enters the Abilene Mutual Bank.

"Good morning everyone," she says with a bright smile. Irma and Violet give her warm greetings.

"Good morning, Sunshine," Abelardo says, his dark eyes twinkling brightly. She gives him a special smile, besides Monica, he's her favorite.

"Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as usual, Lane," Huey says, slumped over his coffee cup. Alice gives him a sweet smile.

"What can I say, Hue, I'm just a morning person." She shrugs as she opens her purse to extract her timecard. Making note of the extra item in her bag that she has to hand off to Monica when she gets to work, she places her bag on the counter. Mr. Melburn waves a distracted hello and she smiles kindly at him.

Huey snorts. "Yeah, and an afternoon person, an evening person, and a night owl on top of that," he lists. Alice shrugs again.

"I'm a happy person, sue me," she replies. He gives her a mock glower over his coffee mug and she winks at him.

Humming the song from the radio that morning, Alice bustles back into the break room to make a fresh pot of coffee. She learned early on that it's best to keep the coffee coming for her more caffeine-addicted coworkers. Luckily, Monica always brings coffee for Violet and Irma; they aren't the plain coffee types.

Still humming, Alice joins her coworkers.

"Tell me something, Sunshine, do you ever get out on the wrong side of the bed?" Abelardo teases. Alice pretends to think for a moment.

"Hmm, once, when I was six," she says finally. At everyone's astounded look she elaborates. "It rained on our birthday," she explains, pouting a little. Everyone laughs.

"So you were just born this way?" Irma teases, smiling affectionately at the younger woman. Alice nods.

"Did you even know the meaning of teen angst?" Violet asks, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

"Oh, of course, Fey had enough of it for both of us," she assures her.

"Speaking of your other half, are we ever going to meet the infamous Fey?" Huey asks, raising an eyebrow at her. Alice makes a face and everyone groans.

"All you ever talk about is your twin sister and Mrs. Himura's terrier, Daisy," Violet points out. Alice gasps in fake offense.

"I'll have you know that I spend a good deal of my time talking about Monica's children as well," she retorts innocently. Everyone laughs again. "But seriously," she continues. "I have no idea if you'll ever meet Fey, she's hard to pin down." She shrugs. "I'm her twin and I hardly ever see her." Everyone gives her sympathetic smiles and hand pats.

"You also spend a hell of a lot of time at the library, reading those ancient tombs," Huey reminds her, changing the subject as he shudders in mock disgust. Alice gives him an affronted look.

"Forgive me if I'm curious about the history of this town, unlike some people," Alice says, smiling all the while. Huey laughs and shrugs in agreement.

"Who's picking on Alice this time?" Monica calls as she comes in, drinks in hand, reproving look on her face. Alice grins at her.

"Just Huey complaining about everything, like usual," Irma says as she hurries over to relieve Monica of her coffee with Violet at her heels. Monica laughs.

"Huey what did I tell you about picking on my favorite babysitter?" Monica scolds. Huey raises a hand to his chest, offended.

"I am not picking on Lane, I am merely teasing," he turns to Alice "Lane, you know I love you and your smiley bullshit," he teases. Alice and Monica laugh.

"Drink your coffee, Huey," Alice orders with affectionate exasperation. He shrugs and does as he's told. Monica rolls her eyes warmly at him and Alice giggles.

"Pay day, Little Bird," she tells Alice, handing off her paycheck.

"Thank you," she chirps. Monica smiles at her and goes off to distribute the rest of the checks to her coworkers. While she refills the ATM Monica chats with Abelardo about her vacation plans.

At 8:59 Monica goes to unlock the front door.

* * *

The redhead makes Richie uncomfortable. She's too calm. While her coworkers tremble and sniffle, she stands with a straight spine and passive face. She barely startled when they busted in; her shoulders did not jump when they shot out the security cameras. She calmly handed over her phone, no shaking hands. She never flinches away from their touch. She's as immovable as marble, she presented her wrists for the zip tie like she's been a hostage every day of her life. She's a puzzle Richie wants to solve, but he has to pay attention to the job—to the safe.

He turns his attention to the other woman, the one who claims she knows the vault combo. He doesn't have time to puzzle out the stony redhead, they need to get the bonds and get out. He'd gotten distracted by the  _horchata_  in the kitchen, and now he needs to focus. When the combo fails, he forces all of his attention onto the goal in front of him. Crack the safe.

Just like that, she's there, the woman who has been haunting him for months. She whispers to him, begging him to set her free, and that's all it took for his focus to scatter across the floor like broken glass. He doesn't understand what's happening to him and it's driving him mad by degrees. Richie doesn't do well with the unexplained; he likes his problems lined up in front of him like equations, equations always have an answer.

If the redhead makes him uncomfortable, this woman makes him feel like he's going to burst out of his own skin.

This confusion is interrupted by sharp bursts of clarity that show him the world in stark contrast of truth and lies. So when it cones time to make their exit, he knows just what to do. When he grabs the woman to use as a human shield, the redhead comes bursting in, frantic at last. Seth points the shotgun at her and she holds her hands up, palms open and flat. Her bag hangs over her shoulder, pressed against her hip

"Wait, don't take her, take me instead," she begs, hysteria coloring her tone. The woman in his arms begins to cry in earnest, shaking her head.

"No, Little Bird, no," she says insistently. The redhead shakes her head firmly.

"It's okay, Monica, go home to Leandro, you have to go home for Rafael and Fernanda," the redhead tells her. She addresses the brothers again. "I'll be a much better hostage, I'll do whatever you tell me to, I won't fight, I won't run," she promises vehemently. "Just please, take me instead."

Seth starts to swear, impatient and antsy. Richie pushes the brunette out of his arms and reaches for the girl in front of him. For a second the planet slides off its axis, the air ripples, reality tears down the middle. Smeared all down the girl's palms, sliding down her sleeves in thick rivers of red is blood. Her hands are coated in blood, slick with syrupy red from the very tips of her fingers, wrapping around her delicate wrists, and disappearing down under the sleeves of her blazer.

Richie gapes at her and closes his fist around empty air, blinking furiously. The world slides back into place, reality stitches itself together again and she's just a girl again, palms raised in surrender, no blood on her hands. Seth swears again and grabs her instead. Richie shakes his head and looks at his brother, seeing concern in his gaze.

"Got your balls on?" Richie asks, more to reassure him than anything else. Seth smirks, his arm tucked around the neck of the redhead. She looks calm and determined. She doesn't look like she regrets her decision.

"Screwed on tight," Seth responds. They burst through the door, the redhead between them and the police. Her steps never falter.

* * *

In the trunk of the car, Elena Gilbert counts to a thousand, and then digs out her phone from the lining of her purse. With careful fingers she types out a message to someone identified only as KP in her phone.

_Been compromised, ABTX needs to be cleaned, will txt when done, don't forget to take out the trash xx CP_

When KP replies Elena turns off her phone and tucks it back into the lining of her purse, hidden from her captors. Then she settles in for the ride, ready to wait it out.

* * *

_**Later** _

"Was there any indication that Miss Lane might've known the suspects?"

Monica blinks. "Excuse me?" she asks, hoping she'd misheard.

"Did it seem like she knew them?" the blank-eyed police officer asks. "Was there any way that she might've been involved? An inside man, so to speak," he elaborates. Monica's jaw tightens.

"How dare—" her voice catches in her throat. From beside her, her husband, Leandro puts a comforting arm around her shoulders. Both of them glare at the officer in front of him. Monica clears her throat.

"No," she says flatly. Leandro's arm is still curled protectively around her; she can feel the tension coiled in his muscles. The officer holds up a soothing hand, impatience in his eyes.

"Now ma'am," he begins placidly. "It's standard procedure."

Monica can feel her hackles rising. "It's standard procedure to accuse an innocent girl of being an accomplice to a bank robbery?" she spits, hands shaking.

"She probably saved my wife's life and now you're accusing her of helping them?" Leandro asks, anger evident in his tone.

It's clear that the young police officer is barely holding back an eye roll. He has blonde hair that droops down over blue eyes set in a round, baby face. His nametag says he's Officer Miller. He can't be much older than Alice. Monica wants to hurt him.

"Now sir, ma'am, there's no need to use that tone," he begins, defensive. "You said so yourself, ma'am, she was very calm throughout the entire robbery, you have to understand why we'd have some questions," he explains, trying to placate them. Monica's glare grows fiercer.

"She kept a level head, but she was afraid, I could tell," she tells him, mouth seconds from snarling. He gives her a pitying look.

"How would you know that?" he enquires, his tone very close to taunting.

"Because I know her," she spits. By now her whole body is shaking with rage.

"She's only been working here for a couple months, by your own account," he points out. "You can't have known her that well."

This time, she does snarl at him.

"She babysits our son, she helps our daughter with her homework and takes them to the movies on the weekends, we know her," Leandro tells the officer, tension coiled in his jaw. Monica glares, her rage temporarily robbing her of her speech.

"She volunteered to be the hostage of two notorious bank robbers, what kind of person does that?" Officer Miller asks. Monica looks him straight in the eyes.

"A good person, a brave person," she says, choking out the words, tears filling her eyes. "She saved my  _life,_ or did you forget that?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but this is a highly unusual—" he begins but Leandro cuts him off.

"If she was a man you wouldn't be questioning  _his_  morality, you would be praising him as a goddamn hero," he accuses calmly. "We won't have her called any less."

Monica nods.

"If you knew Alice Lane, you wouldn't be asking why she did it," Monica tells him. "That's just the kind of person she is."

Across the bank, they could hear Huey as he raised his voice, the officer taking his statement having asked a similar question.

"Lane would never do that, she's a fucking hero, get your goddamn head out of your ass and go catch the bastards that took her."

Monica crosses her shaking arms, and together as one, her and her husband glare down Officer Miller until he practically cowers underneath the weight of their combined fury.

"You heard him, what are you doing here asking useless questions? You should be looking for them, Little Bird's life is hanging in the balance and you're wasting time," she accuses, her voice shrill.

"What am I going to tell my kids? Am I supposed to tell them their Ali's gone because some idiot cop couldn't wrap his head around her bravery?"

She goes quiet suddenly and asks again in a broken voice, "what are we supposed to tell our kids?"

Leandro wraps both arms around her as she shakes with silent sobs. He glares at the cop in front of them.

"Is that all, officer?" he enquires stiffly. Quietly, Officer Miller nods his head and leaves them to their grief. He doesn't promise to save her.

For a long moment Leandro stands there and holds Monica as she sobs. The terror of the day has finally washed over her, and she's drowning in it. She holds onto Leandro as if he is her lifeboat.

One by one the other bank workers finish with their accounts of the robbery and join the Garzas. Violet comes first, she doesn't hesitate to wrap her arms around both of them. Irma and Huey follow. Abelardo comes later, his nose stuffed with tissues, face black and blue. No one says anything about the tears on his face. They all have tears on their faces.

They stand in their strange huddle for a long time, bodies wrapped around one another in a group hug that is as desperate as it is comforting. They are close for coworkers, but it isn't the hugging type of workplace. Considering the events of the day, no one objects, not even Huey, who is notorious for being uncomfortable with emotional displays.

The huddle breaks apart slowly, people breaking off as their friends and family come to bring them home. Finally, it's just Leandro, Monica, and Abelardo left.

"She'll be okay, Sunshine is a brave girl," Abelardo assures Monica half-heartedly. She doesn't disagree, Alice is brave, but bravery can't protect her from everything. Bravery doesn't make her bulletproof. Monica can see the same fear reflected in Abelardo's eyes.

"Yes she is," she says, unable to voice her fears. He pats her arm and leaves. Together, Leandro and Monica make their way to the car.

"I called Luz, she's with the kids now," he tells her. Monica nods.

"Good," she replies. They get in the car, him in the driver's seat. She's too worn out to drive. "Has she told them anything?" she asks.

"Just that something bad happened at Mami's work, I didn't know exactly what had happened when I got the call, I didn't want to unnecessarily worry anyone," he says. She nods gratefully.

"I think we should tell them about Alice together."

She blanches at his suggestion. She doesn't want to hurt them like this, wants to protect them from life's cruelty, but Fernanda will hear about it eventually, from the news, or a gossiping classmate. It will be better to hear it from them. So she nods again.

"Good idea," she tells him. He takes her hand in his. They drive home in silence.

She closes her eyes. The morning's event flash behind her eyes. Everything stands out stark and painfully real, from the matching cuts on her and Irma's necks to the moment when the front door had burst open, and the men had swaggered in, guns blazing. The only moment that feels unreal is when Alice burst into the backroom, hands raised to the ceiling, begging them to take her instead.

Alice can't be gone. She's too young and kind for that kind of fate. Monica has to believe that she will make it through this alive. Any other option is unbearable. She can still see the cold look on his face—the one with the glasses. She can still hear the anger in his voice. He's all aggression and wild card tendencies. Monica shudders.

Alice had stepped forward into the arms of the shorter man—the one who was all calm, matter of fact violence and movie villain swagger. She walked into his arms like it was the only choice she could make. Maybe to her it was. The mother in Monica aches; she doesn't want Alice to be her martyr, and yet—

She will be grateful to her for the rest of her life, no matter her fate. Alice took her place without thought or fear. Monica had been terrified, petrified by the thought that she would never see her children again, her husband,  _her family_. And with one selfless act, Alice gave them back to her.

Now she is afraid that she will never see Alice again.

She thinks of her dark inquisitive eyes that first led Monica to gifting her the nickname Little Bird. Later, when she saw the soft way she talks to children—like the cooing of a dove—the way she sings and hums her way through life, and Monica thought that she couldn't have picked a more appropriate nickname for the younger woman. There's no better nickname for her, barring Abelardo's—Sunshine. Yes for the girl who smiles like the sun itself, Sunshine is a fitting nickname.

Monica sees her stepping into the bank robber's arms again, the way his arm locked around her thin form. A bird in a cage. Wings clipped. Monica swallows down the terror threatening to close up her throat and choke her.

She opens her eyes, unwilling to let her terror consume her. She has to believe she will see her again, if not for her own sake then for her children's. They love Alice. She can't lose herself to her fear or her grief. She has to be strong for them.

Leandro pulls the car into their driveway and turns off the engine. She looks at him with tired eyes. Again, she can see her fear reflected in someone else's eyes.

"Should we prepare them for the worst?" he asks, still unwilling to believe it himself. She gulps down her own terror.

"I think it might be for the best," she says with a jerky nod. He closes his eyes. She holds his hands and waits for him to get control of his emotions. She has to believe that Alice is going to okay, but to prepare for the worst is practically a family motto. She can't lie to her children and tell them that nothing bad will happen to Alice. She has to prepare them for the possibility that Alice Lane might never come home.

Fernanda is waiting for them when they get to the front door. Their daughter practically tackles them in a hug.

"Tia Luz said something bad happened at Mami's work, I thought—" she babbles. Monica hugs her back. Rafael hovers in the background, his wise little eyes wide with worry, Luz standing beside him, quiet anxiety settled in the corners of her mouth. Fernanda backs up and Monica holds out her arms to her son. He doesn't hesitate to hurdle into her embrace, pressing his face into her chest. She squeezes him against her tightly.

"Is everyone all right? What happened?" Fernanda asks from her place under her father's arm. Monica meets her gaze with sad eyes. Fernanda feels the breath catch in her chest. Monica rubs Rafael's back.

"Your papi and I have something to tell you, mijos," Monica tells them, she turns to Luz. "You too, Luz." They all filed into the living room.

When the children and Tia Luz are seated on the couch, Monica and Leandro sit on the coffee table in front of them, a move that does not go unnoticed by either of their children. No one is allowed to sit on the coffee table.

"Something very bad happened at Mami' _s_  work this morning," Leandro begins.

"Some very bad men came and stole from the bank," Monica continues, voice trembling, she glances over at her husband. "They hurt Mr. Milburn and Abelardo, but they'll be okay," she reassures them. Rafael frowns, trying to process the information. Tia Luz has her hand pressed to her heart, a look of concern on her face. Fernanda pipes up.

"What about Ali?" Fernanda asks, anxious to know the fate of the kind older girl who helps her with her homework and takes them to the movies and never gets mad when Fernanda wants to borrow her clothes. Monica's mouth trembles.

"The bad men were going to take Mami with them," she begins, her voice quivering so much that she has to stop. She looks to her husband to finish for her. Leandro takes Fernanda's hands in his.

"Ali begged them to take her instead," he says, his words for everyone in the room, but his eyes on his daughter's. Fernanda gasps, tears filling her eyes. Tia Luz's hands move up to cover her trembling mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"The police will rescue her, won't they, Mami?" Rafael asks, his eyes wide. Monica tries to smile.

"They are going to do their very best, Rafa," she promises him. Fernanda begins to sob. Leandro pulls his daughter into his embrace and she sobs into his chest.

"We'll pray for her," Tia Luz says through her trembling mouth. Monica nods solemnly.

Rafael crawls off the couch and into his mother's lap, resting his head on her shoulder. She wraps her arms around him and props her chin on his little shoulder. Silent tears slide down her face. Luz leans forward to put a comforting hand on her arm. Monica gives her a grateful smile. In Luz's eyes she can see the same fear that she saw in her husband's eyes, and Abelardo's eyes. The same that she knows Luz sees in hers.

It's the fear that sweet Alice might never come home.

Together, the five of them sit united in their fear for a long time. When Rafael falls asleep in his mother's arms, she rises to carry him to his room. Tia Luz stands as well and wipes the tears from her face. She needs to call the rest of the family and let them know what happened.

Leandro leads an exhausted Fernanda to her room, hoping that she might set aside her teenage disdain for appearing childish and take a nap. She agrees to rest as long as he will sit with her.

"Of course, Fer," he agrees readily. She curls up in her bed, him sitting in her reading chair.

"Do you think Ali will be okay, Papi?" she whispers, her eyes wide and sad. He smiles half-heartedly at her.

"I hope so," he answers honestly. Her lip tremble, but she does not cry.

"Me too."

When Monica is sure Rafael is asleep she tiptoes out of his room, shutting the door softly behind her. She can hear the quiet sound of Leandro and Fernanda talking in her room. On the patio, Luz talks on the phone in hushed tones. Everyone accounted for, Monica moves to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water, thinks about drinking something stronger, then brushes the thought aside. She drinks the water slowly and tries not to think about Alice Lane or Abilene Mutual Bank.

When a knock sounds on the door, it's almost a relief. She puts down her glass, straightens her blouse and goes to answer the door. Standing in the doorway is Alice's double. For a moment, all Monica can do is stare at her with wide eyes.

Gradually she registers the dark brown color of her curly hair. The dark, sleek clothing and makeup darker than Alice would ever wear registers next. Gradually it dawns on her who is standing at her door.

"Umm, are you Monica Garza?" the girl asks, looking at her with red-rimmed, uncertain eyes. Monica nods dumbly and then shakes herself out of her stupor.

"You must be Fey, I'm sorry, you just look so much like Alice," she explains. Fey smiles wryly.

"We are identical twins," she points out. Monica laughs, a hysterical edge coloring the sound.

"Right," Monica says. She steps back. "Please, come in."

Fey gives her an uncertain smile and steps through the threshold. Underneath her carefully applied makeup her skin is pale and blotchy, and Monica's heart goes out to her immediately. She knows the story, Alice had told her. Their parents died when they were very young, no other living family. Alice and Fey have only each other, and now this young girl could lose the only family she has.

"Can I get you a drink?" Monica asks, her voice warm and motherly as she steers the younger woman towards the kitchen. Fey smiles at her wryly.

"It would have to be a strong one," she quips. Monica smiles and gestures for her to take a seat at the table, continuing onto the cupboards. She pulls down two glasses.

"I think I have just what you need," she says. Pulling out the bottle of Patrón from under the sink she pours both of them a generous serving. She carries the glasses back to the kitchen table and Fey takes the proffered glass gratefully.

"Thank you," she says. She tosses back the whole glass before Monica even sits down. Monica gives a startled little laugh and she grimaces. "Sorry, it's just been a long day." Monica smiles at her sympathetically.

"I understand," she says. Fey glances at the kitchen clock and smiled wryly at her.

"And it's only noon," she deadpans. Monica glances at the clock, and to her surprise, sees that she's right. Monica stands up and retrieved the bottle.

"I think you need another drink," she says and Fey laughs dryly but nods gratefully.

"Thanks," she says as Monica refills her glass. She drinks the second glass slower. Monica sits across from her and takes her first sip, the liquid burning down her throat pleasantly.

"Did the police have any news about Alice?" she asks, her voice soft. Fey's lips tremble and she shakes her head.

"No, just the usual crap about how they were doing the best they could." She scoffs. "One of them had the audacity to ask me if she could've been involved." The anger in her voice is palpable. Monica smiles sympathetically.

"They asked all of us, everyone told them they were crazy," Monica assures her. Fey smiles at her thankfully.

"Anyone who has to ask, clearly doesn't know my sister," she says. Monica nods in agreement.

"That's what we said," she says. "She's a good girl." Monica looks down at her hands. "I'm sure you know by now, but she saved my life. They were going to take me, but she insisted they take her instead."

Fey nods. "That sounds like my sister." She laughs, voice husky with unshed tears. "She's got a bit of a martyr complex," she says, affection and exasperation warring in her voice. Fey looks at her.

"She loves you very much, you know," the younger girl tells her, her mouth drooping under the weight of her grief. "She talks about you a lot, you and your family, your kids." Her voice is strangely wistful.

"She talks about you all the time," Monica tells her, wanting her to know that she is important to Alice too. "My kids and I, we're very lucky to have her."

"So am I," Fey says, an indiscernible note of possessiveness in her voice. Her mouth trembles ever so slightly, like she's afraid to say that she can't bear to lose her. She doesn't have to say it, Monica understands.

"Do you have any pictures of her with your kids?" Fey asks. "She always loved kids so much, I loved watching her with them, her voice would get all soft, like the—"

"Cooing of a dove," Monica finishes with a slight smile. "My phone was destroyed by the bank robbers, but we have a framed photo of the three of them, Alice has the same one in her apartment—let me go get it." Fey smiles at her gratefully.

When Monica returns she and Fey fuss over it, trading stories about Alice's legendary way with children.

"Monica," Fey says, and she finds herself compelled by an outside force to meet the younger girl's eyes. Her face is solemn and hard as stone. Her eyes hold her captive.

"Do not move, don't make a sound," Katherine orders softly, shedding the Fey persona effortlessly. Monica stays where she is. With light fingers, Katherine slips the picture out of the frame and puts it in her pocket for safekeeping. Paying no mind to the woman seated frozen at the table, she sets to work.

A half an hour later, the house is cleansed of all evidence that Elena had ever been there. Sitting back down in front of Monica, Katherine takes her hands in hers and leans forward, capturing her gaze again. Using the same soft, cooing voice that Elena uses on children, she begins to talk to Monica.

"Monica, I need you to listen very carefully to me." The voice has a soothing effect better than any lullaby, and she can already see the other woman's shoulders beginning to relax. She continues.

"You will forget Alice Lane. Not right away. But you've already started to forget the sound of her voice, the shape of her mouth, and you can't quite remember the color of her eyes, the shade of her hair," Katherine commands. "You'll forget all the details of Alice Lane, one by one, until one day, you don't remember her at all.

"If someone asks, you won't be able tell them how tall she is, the way she laughs, none of it, it's just a blurred memory. You won't forget her all at once, just piece by piece. You'll stop thinking about her until she's nothing but a distant memory, a faded photograph. And every day, it will hurt a little less, until the sound of her name brings only the faintest surge of affection. Alice Lane is gone, and you will forget about her."

Monica nods her head robotically and Katherine smiles. She's already done everyone else in the house. Satisfied with her work, Katherine leaves the house, heading for Alice's apartment.

It's the last errand she needs to run. She stopped by there first; to get the journal Elena kept about the people Alice interacts with on a daily basis. One by one, Katherine visited them, posing as Fey, Alice's sister. When she gained entry, she compelled them to forget Alice Lane and took anything that could lead anyone to Elena Gilbert.

Katherine takes the elevator to Alice's floor. When she unlocks the apartment she stands in the doorway for a moment, surveying the layout. Elena invited her in the second she'd moved in. Satisfied that she knows where everything is, Katherine sets to work.

First, she lights the scented candles that Alice keeps around the apartment. Next she removes the photos from the refrigerator door. Then she removes all the drawings done by Monica's son. She fingers his messy signature on the corner of a portrait of Alice, her hair dancing around her smiling face like flames. Katherine curses Elena's kindness.

She dumps all the drawings and the two copies of the photo of Alice and the Garza children into the metal trashcan from the bathroom along with various other items from the other people she visited today. Katherine lights a match and drops it in, watching until she's sure that they've caught fire properly. Leaving the fire to clean up the evidence, Katherine replaces the other picture.

She tucks the one of her and Elena into her pocket and pins a picture of another pair of dark-haired twins to the fridge. Next to it she pins a picture of one of them in a cap and gown, two more dead girls to throw him off their scent. Not that Klaus has any idea where Elena is, but Katherine is always too careful. She's alive still because she's too careful.

Too careful is burning pictures drawn by sweet little boys and photos of pretty teen girls. No one is safe from Klaus's wrath, and if Elena loves them then they are worth protecting in Katherine's eyes. There is no room for small kindnesses in the face of Klaus's wrath. They are safer burned and forgotten.

Katherine moves to Alice's sterile bedroom. She pushes the bed out of the way and makes short work of the floorboards. She pries them up to reveal a duffle bag and a file box of notes. Elena's supply of vervaine and wolfsbane grenades, crossbow, arrows, and stakes are in the duffle bag along with her few mementos from Mystic Falls. In the file box are all of Elena's notes from Abilene.

A long time ago, before Abilene was an established town, Klaus had a run in with a particularly powerful witch—one of Aztec ancestry. He almost died. Elena was here in Abilene to do research on the event. She'd been trying to determine if the spell the witch had used would be of any use to them.

Katherine replaces all the floorboards with precision and then set aside Elena's duffle bag. She pops open the file box and pulls out the latest entry. In Elena's neat handwriting she reads that she had concluded her research the night before and come to the conclusion that there is nothing more she could learn from Abilene. She intended to give her two weeks at work and be gone before the month is over.

Katherine doesn't have time to peruse her notes, but Elena's conclusion suggests that her findings hadn't been completely useless. Katherine replaces the file and then moves the bed back into place. Katherine knows Elena always keeps what she wants to take with her in her duffle and all her pertinent research in the file box. Nonetheless, she checks the apartment over for anything that might be useful or important. Anything incriminating is burned in the trashcan.

Katherine can't resist filching the gorgeous black leather moto jacket from Alice's closet; she knows Elena would want her to have it. She flushes the ashes down the toilet, slips into the jacket, and then blows out all the scented candles, the dizzying scent of jasmine and cinnamon obscuring all other smells. She throws Elena's duffle over her shoulder and gathers the box of files into her arms. When she's sure everything is just so, she strides out the door.

Sometimes she wonders why one of the only people she cares about is doomed to run just like her. Most of the time she knows that's why she cares about her in the first place.

The only other person she cares about has been trapped for almost as long as she's been running. Katherine has shitty taste in loved ones. She wouldn't give them up for anything else in the whole goddamn world.

* * *

_**Earlier** _

"What was that, Richie?" Seth asks, glancing over at his brother from the driver's seat. Richie looks back at him calmly. "We don't take hostages," he reminds him.

"You're the one who grabbed her," Richie points out calmly. Seth frowns.

"Yeah, and I let her go, you're the one who put her in the trunk," he retorts. So far, the pretty redhead hasn't made a sound back there. It's doing nothing for Seth's nerves.

"We need her," Richie responds simply. Something in his tone makes Seth feel uneasy.

"We don't take hostages," he repeats. Seeing a depleted old liquor store, he pulls the car up behind a haystack and parks. He needs a chance to catch his breath and figure out the mess they've left behind them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> chapter one title from Margaret Atwood's poem Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing


End file.
